“Hey! How are you?” His eyes crinkled in genuine delight.
The weight in my chest grew. “Hey, Danny,” my voice a bit higher than normal. Paranoia set in—me thinking he’d know my deepest, dirtiest thoughts about Billy if I said the wrong thing. “I’m… doing okay.”
As we stood amidst the rows of breakfast cereals, we chatted about the mundane—work, the weather, mutual acquaintances. His laughter had a lightness, and I wondered if mine still had that same timbre. The store around us faded into the background as I tried to hold myself together.
And now, like an impossible twist, Billy was woven into my thoughts and I was comparing the two of them. His hands, his touch so achingly present in my senses. I saw in Danny's kind eyes the echo of his brother and it made my stomach twist in knots. I was standing on the precipice of something with Billy, the depth of which I could only guess, and the fear and longing of it consumed me.
Danny's voice brought me back. “You’ll have to bring Henry out to the house sometime,” Danny suggested. “Mom’s got chickens now. I can just imagine he’d love running after them.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” It was beyond me how he didn’t see how awkward it was for him to be the one inviting me out to his parents’ hobby farm. I no longer actively avoided being around their family, but it wasn’t easy being in their presence, either.
We parted with empty promises to catch up properly someday. I watched him stride away, so composed, so whole.
With each item I placed in my cart, I felt the gravity of choices—past and impending—bearing down upon me. As I queued for checkout, the overhead lights seemed stark and interrogating. My skin yearned for the memory of Billy’s touch; my soul seemed to waver between the shadows of past guilt and the potential for a brighter future.
This couldn't go on. I knew that. But what I wasn’t certain of was how to stop it.
As I headed to my car, the grocery bags heavy in my hands, I realized that I didn't really want it to stop. Despite the confusion and the potential for disaster, I wanted to see where this could lead. I wanted to explore these newfound feelings for Billy, to see if they were mutual.
And as terrifying as that thought was, it also filled me with an excitement I hadn't felt in a long time.
When I arrived, I found Billy and Henry in the living room, building a tower out of blocks. The sight of them together, laughing and focused on their creation, hit me right in the chest. This was what a family looked like.
Billy looked up as I entered the room, his smile faltering just a little when our eyes met. So much for him being able to pretend like nothing happened. What I couldn’t figure out was how he felt about my desperation.
Luckily, Henry didn’t notice the tension. He just looked up and said, “Daddy! Look what we made!”
“It’s fantastic, buddy,” I said, forcing a smile.
Billy stood up and followed me into the kitchen as I put away the groceries. I could feel his gaze on me, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.
Finally, I turned to him. “Billy, can… can we talk about…” How was I supposed to tell him I couldn’t get him out of my head? How could I admit to him the way I felt when he took care of me? Or that I wanted to know what it felt like to have his hands on my dick intentionally?
He held up a hand, cutting me off. “We’ll talk about it, Michael. But not now, not here.” He glanced toward the living room where Henry was playing. He leaned in close enough I felt his hot breath against my neck as he growled out a warning that went straight to my dick. “After he’s in bed, wewillbe sitting down to talk about… a lot of shit.”
I nodded, my heart racing.
Billy cleared his throat. “Just know, whatever this is,” he gestured between us, “I’m not letting you run away from it.”
My throat was dry and my mind raced. I felt a surge of anticipation and trepidation, like being caught in the thrall of a storm with no shelter in sight. But this storm had a name: Billy. The way he spoke, his breath against my skin, was a force to be reckoned with.
I longed for him to reach out and brush his knuckles over my cheek. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from begging him to kiss me. This was a side I never let anyone see. Even though Billy knew me better than just about anyone, I doubted even he knew how I longed for someone else to take control, to give me the freedom to shut out the outside world.
As if he was just as conflicted as I was, Billy took a quick step back and cleared his throat. He plastered a playful smile on his face and turned toward the kitchen. “How about we get started on dinner?”
I blinked, still reeling from the emotional whirlwind, and managed a shaky nod. The clattering of pots and pans pulled me back to the present. As Billy and I worked together to prepare dinner, every glance, every accidental touch seemed charged with unsaid emotion, yet we both held back, restrained by uncertainty and unspoken desires.
Henry scampered in, drawn by the smell of food, and started pulling out his toys. Billy and I exchanged glances over Henry’s head-mine wide-eyed, seeking answers, and his reassuring, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.
“Buddy, I think you’re supposed to put toys away when it’s time to eat, not pull out more.” When Billy corrected Henry, I didn’t bristle the way I did when anyone else stepped in. It felt natural to have him helping me out, probably because he’d stepped into a co-parenting role from the day we came home from the hospital without either of us realizing it.
“Sorry, Uncle Billy.” Henry immediately put away what he’d pulled out and then disappeared into the living room to pick up the blocks they’d been playing with earlier.
I set the table while Billy finished cooking. He dished each of us up and I carried our bowls of stir fry to the table.
Henry’s nose scrunched up when he saw the abundance of veggies mixed in with the rice and thinly sliced chicken. “Do I have to eat that?”
“You know the rules, Henry. You need to at least try it. If you really don’t like it, you can have leftovers,” I reminded him. One thing I’d always promised was that I’d never force him to eat anything he hated. Our parents had done that to us and the trauma was real.
